The Last Viking: In Search of Nazi Gold

By James William Jones

An unexpected visit from their Jewish banker at the beginning of World War II alerts Wilhelm and Kristin to the horrors of the holocaust. Odin had recently appeared to Kristin, portending an upheaval in their lives; they realized this must be their next adventure. Slipping into Nazi Germany through Morocco, they forged identities that gave them access to the most powerful men in the Third Reich. They soon realized that preventing this madman from eradicating those deemed unworthy to populate the Reich was a daunting task even for Wilhelm, Th e Last Viking, and Kristin, his Valkyrie companion.

As they edged ever closer to Hitler they encountered some of the most fascinating people of the twentieth century, including Hermann Gring, Joseph Goebbels, Dr. Josef Mengele, Claus von Stauff enberg, and Hitlers filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl. Along the way they would meet the king of the Roma and befriend numerous innocent Germans caught up in this the last Great War.

They eventually succeed in changing the course of history, but not without great cost. This book also explains why the Russians continued to attempt to authenticate the remains of Hitler well into the 1970s, never believing that he died in the Fhrerbunker.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491702109

James William Jones

James William Jones earned a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering, founded several successful companies, and served as a White House Fellow with the Offi ce of Science and Technology Policy, Executive Office of the President of the United States. He and his wife live in Huntington Beach, CA. Th is is his third novel.

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Copyright © 2013 by James William Jones.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-0209-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0210-9 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 08/16/2013

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Epilogue

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Prologue

It will be good to see Wilhelm again. It’s been over a year since we’ve heard from him.

He is definitely a mysterious character, Nicole. I will say one thing for him. He is creative. In have been going over those books he gave us last time and I can’t find any loopholes. He has certainly done his homework.

So you still don’t believe him?

Of course not. How utterly preposterous to claim that he has been alive for over a thousand years. And that story about the valkyrie girl and being thrown out of Valhalla. It is completely impossible. His story makes L. Ron Hubbard’s books read like documentaries.

So, Dr. Steinhaus, oh mighty intellect, why is he trying to con us, lowly assistant professors that we are? You saw his house and all those expensive paintings, the furnishings, and all the electronics. Is he trying to cheat you out of your 401K?

I don’t know why he is doing it, but I don’t believe his story for one minute. He must have some reason to perpetrate this hoax. I intend to keep this entire matter at arm’s length until I find out what it is.

It’s good to be back on Boston Common again. What a nice day. I keep saying I am going to come over here and run, but it never happens. Are you still running? asked Nicole.

Not much lately. I am still trying to get tenure. I have been writing like crazy lately and my graduate students aren’t that good. I have to do most of the work myself. I just haven’t taken the time to run.

That looks like Wilhelm. He is in the dark blue sweats, said Nicole waiving. Over here.

Wilhelm pulled up in front of the bench and slipped the small running pack off his shoulders.

It’s good to see you again, he said, hugging Nicole and shaking hands with John. I have what I think will be a good read for you. It’s taken me a long time to finish, but I think you will enjoy it.

Wilhelm loosened the drawstrings on the pack and pulled out a thick manuscript.

Who wants it first?

I’ll take it, said Nicole greedily as she grabbed the book from Wilhelm’s hands. I’m planning to spend this evening reading it from cover to cover.

Be sure to have plenty of coffee in that case, replied Wilhelm. This is not a quick read.

Do we get to know what happened to Kristin? asked Nicole.

Read it and find out, said Wilhelm with a wry smile. After you both finish it, maybe we can meet to discuss it.

That would be great, don’t you think, John?

Sure. That will be nice, John reluctantly replied.

Well, I’m off to the races, said Wilhelm as he put his empty backpack over his shoulders. I’ll expect to hear from you in a couple of days.

As Wilhelm jogged off, Nicole turned to John Steinhaus.

I thought you were pretty rude, John. You could have at least seemed more interested.

I have to assume this is some kind of a hoax. I don’t want to look like a naïve simpleton.

Is that what you think I am, John?

Of course not, Nicole. I am just skeptical, that’s all.

Wilhelm had run just over a mile when his cell phone rang.

Hello, Nicole, he said as he pulled up and saw the caller ID.

So you think I forgot the last chapter? he laughed into the phone. How did you possibly get that far in only a few minutes? I suspected you would cheat, so I held it back. When you get there, call me and I’ll email you the rest. Goodbye and enjoy.

Chapter 1

The jarring sound of the doorman’s buzzer broke the comfortable ambiance in the living room of Unit 440, The Dakotas. Wilhelm glanced toward Kristin and her expression told him she was not expecting anyone either. He rose and pressed the intercom.

Hello, Charles. What do you have for me on this rainy Sunday evening?

Mr. Nord, you have a visitor. I told him you do not receive visitors unless they have an appointment, but he insists I call you. He claims it is a matter of life or death.

And just who is this gentleman who seems to think I hold such powers?

He says he doesn’t have a card with him, but you will know his name. A Mister Jacob Stenzler is waiting in the lobby.

Jacob Stenzler, repeated Wilhelm aloud. Kristin’s face revealed she recognized the name as well.

Send him up, Charles. We are well acquainted with Mr. Stenzler.

Kristin set her book on the side table and arose, crossed the room and switched off the radio. She took her ashtray into the kitchen and emptied the remains of a package of Camels into the garbage. She placed the throw pillows back on the couch while Wilhelm gathered the Sunday New York Times into a something approaching a neat pile.

Why do you think Mr. Stenzler is coming, Wilhelm? Is it something about our accounts at the bank?

I certainly hope not, dearest. Since he told Charles it is a matter of life or death, I cannot imagine it could have anything to do with business. Besides, I was just at the bank last week and everything was in order. The good news is we won’t have long to wait to find out.

The doorbell rang as Wilhelm was walking past the hall mirror. He took an obligatory look to see just how disheveled he appeared.

Not too bad for a man my age.

It always made him smile even though it was hardly a new thought. His full light reddish brown beard was neatly trimmed. He pushed back a shock of blond hair, worn full but much too short to plait into long braids the way he had once worn it. He nicely filled out the velvet jacket he wore around the apartment.

As Wilhelm approached the front door, he heard the elevator open and Sam the operator giving directions. Wilhelm could not resist counting the seconds as he pictured Jacob hustling down the carpeted hallway at his usual rapid pace. Jacob was not a restful man when he was not nervous and upset, not that Wilhelm had ever seen him in any other condition. The bell rang on cue and Wilhelm opened the door.

Standing in the doorway was a damp and dreary man, obviously a Hasidic Jew, looking extremely uncomfortable. He held the brim of a black felt hat in both hands and carefully curled locks of coal black hair hung in front of his ears like ineffective coil springs. His thinning hair was still partially covered by a yarmulke. Rain dripped from his hat and his heavy woolen suit sagged from the weight of moisture, defining his bony arms and shoulders.

Please pardon my intrusion, Mr. Nord, but I ask only a few moments of your time.

By all means, Mr. Stenzler. Please come in. You are always welcome in our home. Allow me to take your hat.

Wilhelm placed the hat on the hall table and followed his visitor into the living room.

Kristin rose and extended her hand.

Welcome, Mr. Stenzler. Can I offer you something to eat or drink?

No thank you, Mrs. Nord. I would like to come directly to the point of my visit, if you do not mind. I am not at all certain I have done the correct thing by coming here and, quite frankly, I would like to proceed before I lose my nerve.

Nonsense, Mr. Stenzler. We are friends. I am sure there is nothing to be nervous about. Please continue.

As you know, I am your account executive at the bank, and, as such, I personally perform most of your transactions and I approve all of them as a matter of our internal auditing. It is bank policy for premium customers. I have noticed an interesting pattern in your business dealings in Europe. Based on this observation, I thought you might have access to information that could be valuable to my organization, and now I am not referring to the bank, Mr. and Mrs. Nord.

You have our attention, said Wilhelm. Go ahead.

Specifically, I have noticed you seem to have an excellent track record making investments in countries that have been invaded by the Nazis over the past several years. You have been successful in purchasing companies at a discount and selling them just before they are nationalized. You have made excellent profits in this way. I cannot help but notice that much of these transactions are done in partnership with the Swiss National Bank. I can tell you, without breaching confidential information from our bank, you are the only customer that has made such investments.

Jacob Stenzler paused and took out his handkerchief, wiped perspiration from his face and then from behind his neck. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked into the attentive faces of Wilhelm and Kristin. He continued.

Based on my observations, I have to assume you have good sources of information in these countries. No one, especially you with your excellent history of investment, would make such risky moves unless you have access to inside information. I am taking the risk, Mr. Nord. You are a man of high principles and you are not aligned with the Nazis. If I am incorrect, this will probably be the end of my career at the bank. However, it is a risk I must take.

First, let me assure you, Kristin and I are committed to the Allied cause and we find the Nazi party a despicable organization. I have personally written our congressman and senator urging them to enter the war. Adolph Hitler is clever, devious, and unscrupulous. The longer we allow him to continue to annex countries and bring them into his war machine, the harder it will be to face him when we are finally forced to do so.

As for my investments, I do indeed have network of friends and associates in Europe. I rely upon them for information. There is always money to me made in wars. In some cases, I have purchased companies from people who wanted to salvage what they could and leave. I turned a profit on some when they were later bought by others were greedy and finally saw the Germans would be using a great deal of arms and ammunition. They didn’t realize Hitler would simply take the factories and give them a handful of scrip from the Third Reich in return.

I am happy to learn you are on our side, Mr. Nord. You would make a formidable foe. What I am going to tell you now is why I came to you today. I have received information from my family in Europe that the Jewish persecution is much more severe than anyone can imagine. Hitler has built concentration camps and is executing literally millions of Jews. This is not hearsay or propaganda, Mr. Nord. I am willing to bet my life and future on the veracity of this information or I would not have come here today.

Wilhelm sat back in his chair and stroked his beard. After some moments of silence, Kristin spoke.

Assuming what you say is true, what do you think we could do to help?

Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just knew you must have connections in Europe and you seem to know many people here. You have money. Beyond that, I just did not know what else to do, anywhere else to go. We need to find a way to convince the politicians this is a much more serious problem than anyone knows or is willing to admit. All I know is I can’t allow this to keep happening.

I have heard rumors of such atrocities before, Mr. Stenzler, said Wilhelm as he arose signifying the meeting was over. I will investigate this matter, discreetly of course.

Stenzler rose and started toward the door with Kristin following. When they reached the hall, Wilhelm turned, handed him his hat, and asked, Do you have any kind of organization in the occupied countries, an underground or resistance?

Yes, such an organization does exist, though I know little about it. I believe they are capable of providing assistance, at least in limited ways. Why? What do you have in mind?

I am just beginning to think about the possibilities right now. Kristin and I prefer to discuss such things alone where we can talk freely. I will be in contact with you. Thanks for coming today and trusting us. We will never reveal that we talked today.

They walked silently to the couch and sat down close together. Wilhelm placed his large hand on Kristin’s knee as he often did when they talked. He subconsciously enjoyed the feeling of warmth and companionship of human contact.

What do you think, dearest? Are things as bad as this chap makes them out?

He does not seem like what I would call a frivolous man.

Wilhelm smiled back in concurrence.

Let’s say he’s right and Hitler’s killing millions of Jews, Kristin continued. What could we do about it?

I haven’t figured that out either, dearest. We can’t exactly go before a hearing in Congress and testify. First, we do not really know anything concrete and secondly, there would be unending investigations about who we are and great rolls of red tape. If we decide to do anything, it will have to be the way we always have done things. It will be just the two of us.

There is one thing you should know, Wilhelm, before we discuss this anymore. Odin has been in my dreams for the last month. He has been telling me a change was coming and I would know it when it was time. As soon as Jacob came in the door today, I knew it was a sign our lives were about to change.

"In that case, my dear, we don’t need to discuss the if, only the what and when. Tomorrow, I will contact some people we know in Europe and we will start putting our affairs in order. It would seem to me, we can’t do much from here. We have to be there."

I agree. We have always jumped into these things first and solved them as we go along. This is definitely the situation now since there is so much secrecy in wartime.

Right you are, Kristin dearest. My God, I am bored anyway. We are turning into sloths. We need this to get our blood stirring again.

I have to tell you something, Wilhelm. I have an uneasy feeling about this whole thing. I am not afraid. You know I have never been afraid but there is something about it chills me.

You have just forgotten our old ways, my love. You will be your old confident self in no time.

I hope you’re right, dear Wilhelm. At any rate, this is something we must do and the faster we get started the more lives we can save.

Chapter 2

How much longer until we dock? sighed Kristin petulantly. I can’t stand much more of being in this cramped cabin looking out this tiny porthole. I think the walls are beginning to close in on me.

We dock tomorrow afternoon, dearest. Do I detect a note of discontent? said Wilhelm with an irritating tone of cheerful sarcasm. It has only been three days and we are supposed to be newlyweds. You should be excited and happy to have me all to yourself.

After about a thousand years, the new begins to wear thin and we aren’t married. Everyone always assume we are married and I find it extremely condescending. Why would I marry you after all these years? First, I can manage quite well on my own and secondly, it would be redundant. If Odin recognized we were in love what does it matter what the mortals think?

Yes, dearest, if we have stayed together all these years one could assume this might develop into a permanent arrangement, said Wilhelm as he lowered the book he was reading and picked up his Scotch and soda. Anyway, I don’t think I will ever find anyone else like you.

Nor you, said Kristin and she walked by him and mussed his hair on her way to the Scotch. "Do you realize we have been together for almost exactly a thousand years?

Yes, answered Wilhelm. "We left Valhalla in 953¹. We will be gone one thousand years in only about a decade."

We were banished, as I remember, dearest. There is a difference you know.

A mere matter of semantics, answered Wilhelm.

Do you think we will ever get back to Valhalla? said Kristin as she filled his glass. We have done many deeds that should have been sufficient to satisfy Odin. I think we have earned the right to return to Valhalla.

I agree, but, who knows the mind of Odin, responded Wilhelm. One would have thought that helping to end the Hundred Years War or catching Jack the Ripper would have gotten us back before now. I thought when Jehanne was taken back we wouldn’t have long to wait. That was over five hundred years ago now.

Yes, but she was burned at the stake. It was a dreadful way to go. Wilhelm, what if one of us gets back and the other one is left on earth?

I have considered that possibility many times, dearest one. I cannot think of a world without you. If you go without me, I would never be capable of achieving a deed worthy of returning.

I feel the same way, Wilhelm. I will never completely understand the way mortals think. Without you, I would be lost.

It is better not to think about it at all, declared Wilhelm. If you can’t change a thing, then worrying about it is counterproductive. That is a lesson we learned in childhood. A warrior cannot go into battle fearing that he will die. Fate decides for you. The warrior must fight to prove he is worthy of Valhalla. If he remains on Earth after the battle, so be it. Now, since we can’t change our fate, let’s enjoy the journey.

You’re right, answered Kristin looking at the ocean creeping by the porthole. I think this must be the slowest ship I have ever seen. Your old Viking ships could sail faster.

I think not. The Atlantic is a large ocean and it is a long way from Rio to Morocco. Our small ships would be fortunate to make it this far across the open seas. This cabin is a palace compared to the open ships we sailed and in much worse weather. I do not long for the old days.

I still don’t understand why we had to go to Switzerland by way of Brazil and Morocco. Why don’t we just sail directly to Marseilles and take the train to Bern? We have Swiss passports and Dr. Seltz will vouch for your identity. You have been doing business with him as long as he has been at the bank.

It’s not that easy. The Nazis are good at keeping records. They are suspicious of everyone and everything. They control North Africa now and General Rommel has sealed all the African ports. They don’t let anyone in or out that does not have the right papers. Europe is even tighter. Nothing moves without the Nazis knowledge. All the borders are closed.

Kristin poured herself another Scotch and sat down on the couch.

Why go through Morocco? It will take us a month to get to Marseilles.

Because the French are the only organized resistance. They hate the Nazis and they have some bright and competent men and women in their organization. Do you have your passport memorized?

Yes, dear. I am Señora Angelica DoNorte from Rio De Janierio, Brazil, 55 Plaza do Carnivals, born July 14, 1920. Do I really look twenty one?

Not a single day older, dearest. Be sure to wear the black wig. You look much too Nordic without it.

Wilhelm walked across the stateroom and peered into the mirror.

How do I look with black hair and a black mustache? God, I hated to shave my beard. I haven’t seen this face for decades.

I think it is a beautiful face, dearest. With your black hair and mustache, it is almost like living with a new man, Kristin teased.

A knock on the steel cabin door interrupted their conversation.

Your lunch is here, Señor and Señora DoNorte.

Kristin adjusted her robe and turned to gaze out the porthole. Wilhelm opened the door and allowed the steward to place the tray on the small table.

Can I get you anything else, Sir? asked the steward solicitously.

Wilhelm handed him a generous tip, winked, and said, I think I have everything I want just now.

The steward backed out through the doorway trying to get a better look at the tall and obviously beautiful young lady across the room. Wilhelm closed and locked the door behind him.

Champagne, dearest?

Of course. We newlyweds have to celebrate or there would be gossip.

The ship docked in Tangiers about dusk the following day. Even though it was nearly April, the days were almost equally divided between day and night at this latitude. The steward passed along the corridor, knocking on every door.

We will dock in thirty minutes. Please return to the ship no later than noon tomorrow. We sail at two.

When his voice faded down the corridor, Kristin spoke.

I wish we could disembark now. I don’t think I can stand another minute in this room.

We need to wait until dark, replied Wilhelm. We don’t want anyone to see us in the daylight. Tomorrow another couple will come aboard and continue our journey. They have been waiting to get out of France for over a year. They have been in hiding here in Morocco for several weeks now. I can only imagine how impatient and afraid they are tonight.

Do you really think this intrigue is necessary? There must be millions of people coming and going across the borders throughout Europe. How could they notice us?

The Germans are meticulous. They never forget the details. They keep records of everyone and everything. We have to have an impeccable paper trail or we will eventually be discovered once we get into Germany. The higher we get into the Nazi organization, the more scrutiny we will receive.

Then, pass the champagne, darling, said Kristin extending her hand. This is the last night the DoNorte’s will be aboard and we should celebrate.

It was after ten o’clock that night when Wilhelm and Kristin walked down the gangplank and across the dock. The sailor sitting on the hawser stanchion hardly looked up from his newspaper. Wilhelm carried a worn leather briefcase and Kristin a large handbag. They entered the weathered one story building and walked along the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the bare plank walls. As they approached the exit, they stopped in front of a sleepy customs agent in a threadbare uniform. He held out his hand and Wilhelm placed their passports on the table. The agent looked inquisitively at their papers, and briefly contemplated the photographs inside, glancing back and forth comparing faces to the pictures. Satisfied, he expertly thumbed the passports to a blank page with his left hand, and stamped something in blue ink with his corroded metal stamp. Wilhelm pushed open the swinging gate by the desk and they walked through toward a noisy group of taxi drivers who were vying for their business. Wilhelm glanced furtively back and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a well dressed soldier in a black uniform had appeared at the desk. The soldier was conferring with the agent in muffled tones. The swastika on his cap left no doubt as to his allegiance and Wilhelm felt his heart race in spite of his attempt to remain calm. It irritated Wilhelm greatly to react to the mere presence of the Nazi and his face flushed from the sudden urge to confront him. He promised himself there would be a more opportune time to react and steadily walked out into the warm dry night air of Morocco.

A short and uneventful ride through the streets of Tangiers brought them to a shabby three-story building proclaimed in Arabic to be Ali Baba’s Cave.

I don’t expect to find the riches of Ali Baba here, my love, but I expect there are at least forty thieves inside.

Kristin smiled and emerged through the tattered door of the ancient Citroën. Wilhelm handed the driver a few coins and headed toward the wooden stairs.

Baksheesh, baksheesh, Sire, uttered the driver.

Wilhelm looked back and shook his head. He had paid more than necessary anyway and the driver was testing him to see if he knew the going rate.

Wilhelm rang the bell twice before he heard a groan. He leaned over the front desk and watched the desk clerk arise from his pallet.

We will be here several days. Here, this should cover it, said Wilhelm.

The clerk, dressed in dirty white robes and a crocheted cap, pushed the leather bound registry toward Wilhelm. Wilhelm ignored it and pointed to the keys hanging on rusty nails behind the desk. The clerk shrugged and handed him the key to 201. He pointed to the stairs and began to lie down behind the counter again.

The Muslim call to worship awoke them just before dawn. Kristin rose quietly from the bed, opened the shutters, and beheld the unmistakable silhouette of a mosque against the nearly black sky. The shape of the minarets became increasingly well defined as the sky began to glow faintly in shades of orange and yellow. The fine desert sands that filled the air with millions of tiny prisms split the light into distinct wavelengths. Primary colors danced across the horizon and illuminated the bland city of beige baked clay and shadows.

Wilhelm’s arms encircled Kristin as she watched the coming day. He pulled her back against his chest and kissed her hair softly. Kristin leaned back and Wilhelm whispered softly into her ear.

I am in no great hurry to leave this morning, my dearest. Shall we enjoy this most pleasant time together?

Somewhat later, they left the hotel and found the streets had been transformed into turbulent rivers of humanity. Dark-skinned men lead chains of donkeys and camels carrying curiously shaped loads of goods. Bedouin women followed at a respectful distance, covered head to toe with black abayas² with a niqāb³ covering their faces. Dark eyes peered out of slits in the niqāb, taking in the world and allowing nothing to enter their personal universe.

They walked toward the market, Kristin practically skipping along the dusty streets. As they entered the warren of open-air shops, they experienced the fragrance of Turkish tobacco, the exotic aroma of spices, and the off-putting smell of the unwashed human body. Kristin purchased a long ivory scarf she wore on her head and draped gracefully over her shoulder. Wilhelm found a black and white checked keffiyeh⁴ and a leather plaited agal⁵ to hold it in place. Such headgear was a necessity where the daily temperature could easily reach one hundred and twenty degrees. Their light skin would turn a bright red and painful in minutes.

As they walked to the far side of the bazaar, they could see the stockyards beyond. Weathered wooden rails interrupted by stacks of clay bricks formed enclosures for the assortment of animals were for sale. The pens segregated the camels, donkeys, goats, and cattle. Men in long robes stood in pairs with one sandaled foot resting on the lower rail and leaning on the top rail. Negotiating a fair price would take most of the day. Both men knew when the deal was done, they would have nothing of consequence to do, so they savored the bargaining. After striking a deal they would share a pot of coffee and smoke a hookah⁶.

At the far end of the stockyards was a line of stables, open on three sides with poles across the top to provide a partial shade for the horses inside. The horses were the aristocrats of the stockyards. They were fed the best food, washed, and groomed. A fine Arabian stallion was worth more than a dozen good men. Kristin and Wilhelm walked down the dirt path in front of the stables. Wilhelm spotted a white Arabian mare that stood two hands higher than most of the stallions. She had a gray mane and tail. The small, well-formed head, characteristic of the breed, was exquisite. As they approached the rails she ambled toward them and allowed Wilhelm to rub her nose. An Arab who had been watching from the shade, slowly approached Wilhelm. He smiled broadly revealing an almost perfect set of yellowed teeth surrounded by a thick black beard cut into what resembled a Van Dyke.

You like my big mare? he asked Wilhelm in Arabic.

Is she for sale? Wilhelm responded.

His Arabic was only fair and certainly outdated since it had been centuries since he spent a year traveling with Rolf and his men throughout the Mediterranean countries.

Everything has a price, Sire. I could be persuaded to part with this beautiful animal even though it would break my heart.

Wilhelm resigned himself to a long negotiating session and began the intricate intellectual dance would eventually be concluded by what both of them already knew from the outset was inevitable. Wilhelm’s voice faded and became faint as Kristin walked along the stable road. Finally, when she walked past the last stall, she saw a large black stallion tethered to a heavy log by a thick rope. He raised his head defiantly when she approached and his nostrils flared.

Do not approach that horse! called out a voice.

Kristin turned and saw an Arab approaching her at a fast pace. He held his hand up as of to halt her motion and quickly placed himself between her and the stallion. As he guided her away, he chided her in broken English.

Stay far away. This horse is a killer. No one can ride him and he will trample you. He can still move around even tied to the log. He is extremely dangerous.

Kristin replied in Arabic, Is this your animal?

Yes, he is mine. I brought him here to sell but everyone knows him. I think he is only good for dog meat.

He is far too beautiful to kill. Maybe I will buy him from you.

I cannot sell him to you, lady. As Allah is my god, he would never forgive me. Allah Akbar.

I will return with my husband. Wait here for me.

Shortly, Kristin returned with Wilhelm in tow.

I want you to buy this horse for me, she said to Wilhelm as they approached the stallion. This is his owner. He refuses to sell him to me. He will sell to you because you are a man.

The magnificent horse reared and pawed the air trying to reach Wilhelm and Kristin. He dragged his log closer, snorted, and reared again.

As Wilhelm backed out of the way, he looked at Kristin. Are you sure you want this one? There are some beautiful horses for sale and this guy seems to be intent on doing us in.

I think he just needs a little understanding, Kristin responded. Besides, they will kill him if I don’t buy him.

Wilhelm shrugged. Turning to the Arab, he asked, How much for this criminal?

The Arab walked closer and smiled. I love this high spirited animal. I could not part with him for less than a thousand francs.

Wilhelm laughed. I will give you one hundred francs if you take my first offer. The price goes down every time you say no.

The wily Arab was silent. He looked at the horse and then back at Wilhelm. Finally, he spoke.

If I sell you this horse, he is your responsibility. I will not take him back, even for free. Any damage he does will be yours to repay. Only on those conditions will I sell you this horse.

That seems fair to me, replied Wilhelm. He opened the leather pouch he carried and counted out one hundred francs. Here is your money. I assume I get the rope he is tied with.

The Arab took the money, counted it, and pushed it into his robes.

You can have the log also, he laughed.

Kristin, I am going back and finish buying the mare. Will you be all right here alone with this wild creature?

I think I can handle everything now. It will take me a couple of days, but he will be fine.

Wilhelm turned and walked back to negotiate for his horse. Kristin waited until she was alone with the stallion and began to speak to him in a low and steady voice. After about an hour, she thought she could discern a change in his breathing.

Over the next few days, Wilhelm acquired saddles and tack for the horses. He was still not sure the stallion would ever be broken, but he could see the progress Kristin was making. She had been able to put a bridle on him and lead him around like a large dog. The Arab watched from a distance, expecting the stallion to turn on her at any moment. On the fourth day, Kristin put a saddle on his back and led him throughout the market. He seemed to be oblivions to the other animals. Just about dusk, Kristin decided he was ready to ride. She led him to the edge of a large field on the outskirts of the stockyard and carefully placed the reins over his head. She walked to his side and took hold of the saddle horn. She began to put her weight on the saddle to see how he would react. He remained calm.

Sirocco, old boy, here we go, she said to herself.

Kristin placed her boot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Sirocco began to prance and turn, his head twisted almost completely around. Kristin pulled back on the reins and straightened him. She spurred him gently and he lunged forward and broke into a gallop. She rode him until well after dark. When they returned to the stable, he was completely wet and foaming. Kristin dismounted and walked to his head. She began to wipe him off with a towel. She led him to his stall, fed and curried him, and returned to the hotel. It was almost midnight when she lay down beside Wilhelm. Several minutes passed in silence as Kristin began to fall asleep.

Are you still awake, Kristin?

Yes, Wilhelm. I was just lying here thinking about how far I have come with Sirocco. He is responding wonderfully. That is the most incredible animal I have ever ridden. He can run at full speed for hours and he never seems to tire. He is intelligent and sensitive. No wonder he was so rebellious when he was mistreated. He would rather die than be treated badly.

Is he ready to travel?

Yes. I think I can control him under any condition. By the time I ride him a few days, he will be completely mine. Do we have to leave now?

Yes. We have to be in Marseilles in three weeks. We have lost a few days here but I think we are OK.

Why do we have to be there on a particular day? Why can’t we just take our time?

The French underground expect us to arrive at El Jabha in three days. There will be a fishing boat to take us across the Strait of Gibraltar. It has been arranged. We can’t cross into Spain at Gibraltar. England controls the port of Gibraltar. We can’t enter through the port or the English will stop us. The border between Gibraltar and Spain is well patrolled. Spain is supposed to be neutral but they are really siding with the Nazis. General Franco still owes millions to Germany that he borrowed during the Spanish Civil War. He has to support Hitler. Since the Nazis control the frontier at Gibraltar, we will enter Spain at Estepona by boat. There is a train station there and we will use our Spanish passports to travel across Spain.

Then what, Wilhelm?

Then we get to Marseilles in time to take a train back to Geneva and on to Bern.

What do you mean back to Geneva?

It will be revealed to you in good time, my love. It is better you do not know. If we are caught, there will be interrogation. The Nazis are nasty people. It is better for you not to know any more than you already do.

"You are such a chauvinist, dear Wilhelm. I know you try to protect me, but I seem to remember I have extracted you